


A Perfect Day

by coolbyrne



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4834838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another perfect day. So why does it end with Maura crying?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Perfect Day

A/N: Well, considering Lou Reed’s “A Perfect Day” was the inspiration for this story, it was meant to be considerably more depressing than it turned out. Sorry about that, happycamper5. I guess I just can’t do it to them. There’s a reference in this story to a previous story I wrote- the bobblehead comes from “The Perfect Game”. Not necessary to read it, of course, but give it a shot if you like. Thanks to happycamper5 for the beta, and always giving me the perfect day.

 

…..

 

As the top of the hour rolled around and Sports Center was set to repeat their highlight show, Jane reached up with both arms and revelled in the cracking sound her shoulders made. Her neck responded in kind after a side-to-side twist, and she smirked at Maura's wrinkled nose.

 

"Ah, that felt good," she sighed.

 

"You know I don't like it when you do that."

 

She shrugged. "And you know I don't like it when you feed me kale. Doesn't stop you, though."

 

"Jane, those aren't mutually inclusive."

 

Waving aside the logic, she stood, stretched, and cracked some more. "I think I'm gonna head out."

 

Maura looked up. "Are you sure? You're always welcome to stay."

 

"I know," she replied, rubbing the blonde's shoulder, "but the supervisor's coming in to look at the windows in the morning."

 

"Oh right. You told me."

 

"And 'between 9 and 1' means 8:50." Maura smiled and made a motion to stand, but Jane gently held her in place. "Don't get up. I'm pretty sure I know my way out by now. Just don't forget to set the alarm before you go to bed."

 

Placing her hand over Jane's, Maura acknowledged the request with a nod. "As long as you don't forget I'm taking you to that new vegetarian restaurant for a late lunch tomorrow."

 

She pushed her feet into her black boots and slipped on her jacket. "How could I forget?" she asked with over-exaggerated enthusiasm. "I've been sooooo looking forward to it!"

 

Jane's wink made it hard to retaliate with any kind of seriousness, but Maura tried anyway. "Go," she dismissed with a disinterested air and a wave. It lasted as long as it took for Jane's laughter to reach her ears. "Go!" she commanded again, but made no attempt to hide her amusement.

 

Mission accomplished, Jane opened the door. "Good night, Maura."

 

"Good night, Jane."

 

.....

 

"...stubbed his toe going to the bathroom in the middle of the night. The doctors say he could be out as long as six weeks."

 

Maura shook her head and smiled at the memory of Jane's reaction to the news.

 

_"Six weeks because of a bum toe? We start a 10-game road trip tomorrow. He's the freakin' third baseman, for cryin' out loud. He doesn't do anything besides stand there."_

When Maura carefully explained all of her points - six weeks was only an estimate, the Sox have a winning record on the road, and the third baseman does more than just stand around - Jane puffed out her cheeks and fell back against the couch in defeat.

 

Maura's concern, even watching it the second time, was the lack of medical specifics that would help her to know the extent of the injury. Were they aware of the risk of a subungual hematoma? How were they treating the break? Was the player being forced to stay off his feet, which would speed up recovery? She didn't approve of the light-hearted manner in which the commentators relayed the news, which was vague and slightly dismissive.

 

The glass stopped halfway to her lips and she couldn't help but chuckle. _I'm watching Sports Center and contemplating the diagnosis of a baseball player._ She made a mental note to tell Jane in morning. Standing, she collected her wine and Jane's beer and walked into the kitchen, depositing the bottle into the recycling bin and her glass in the sink. She considered washing up the small amount of dishes, but heard Jane in her ear:

 

_"Maura, I'm sure Architectural Digest will call first before they show up."_

 

So, making a decision that she would consider brash, Maura turned her back on the sink, and looked at the granite island. Files of their current case were strewn across the surface; Jane had had some theories she wanted to ‘hash out’, as she put it, and Maura had been only too happy to help. Their brainstorming sessions were one of her favourite things: they often literally put their heads together and worked as one, finding a common ground, and coming to the same conclusion. It was an exhilarating sensation she never got from anyone else.

 

A thump caught her attention. "Hello, Bass," she greeted warmly and kneeled down to gently stroke his shell. "I have just the thing for you," she told him and walked over to the refrigerator. With a presentation that went unnoticed by the tortoise, Maura knelt again and cooed, "Jane brought these for you. I think she likes you, even though she'll never admit it." A wrinkled head slowly emerged from the marbled carapace and eagerly snapped at the plump strawberry.

 

_"I figured I couldn't just bring food for us,"_ Jane had explained when Maura unpacked the bags and found the container of English strawberries. _"He tries to bite my ankles when you're not looking,"_ she frowned. _"Think of it as a peace offering."_

Maura gave him another before taking a final look around the room and setting the alarm. The familiar tone of the four digit code gave her an extra sense of security, as if the numbers that represented Jane’s birthday also represented her presence. Giving Bass one last pat, she said her ‘good night’ before ascending the stairs to her bedroom. A photo greeted her at the top; it was a simple 8x10 of three people sitting around a booth, but in Korsak, Frost and Jane, those three people meant everything. As always, she reached out to briefly touch the picture and her fingers lingered slightly on the image of a beaming Detective Frost, his absence still fresh despite the stretch of time.

 

One more ritual before going to her room meant checking the guest room, even though Jane wasn’t there. She wasn’t sure why she still thought of it as a ‘guest room’; clearly, it was a ‘Jane room’. Through the frosted glass of the closet door, she could see two suits waiting for their owner, and a pair of running shoes strewn on the floor. Pajamas were neatly folded and placed on the pillow, and there was a book on the nightstand that Maura knew didn’t belong to her: Baseball America 2015 Almanac.

 

_“The stats help me go to sleep,” Jane explained._

_“Yes, they put me to sleep, too.”_

_Jane did a double-take. “Is that sarcasm?”_

_“No,” Maura shook her head. “I’m very serious.”_

_“Not funny.”_

_“Oh, it was a little funny.”_

_“Okay, maybe a little.”_

Smiling, Maura closed the door and walked the five short steps to her bedroom. Though used more, it felt less lived-in without the memories and an inexplicable sadness washed through her. She considered going to get the almanac, if only to have something of Jane, then realized it was a ridiculous idea. If she forgot to put the book back, how would she explain it? _“I had it in my room because…”_ Why? _“Because I missed you?”_ She shook her head and turned on the bright light of the master bathroom. Working on auto pilot, she let herself go through the motions of her nightly beauty regime while her mind wondered over the case, over the day, over Jane. Her hands stopped in mid-massage, the facial cream still wet on her fingertips.

 

A perfect day.

 

Work. Sports. Beer. Lunch. Bass. The Jane Room.

 

A day that ended like every other day, full of memories and smiles, but ultimately...alone. Gripping the edge of the sink, she watched in surprise as warm tears hit the cool porcelain. One by one they fell, as if finally given permission to release them, there was no way to turn off them off. She looked up at her reflection, hoping to be shamed enough by her appearance to stop crying. If anything, the sight of her pleading expression only made the tears fall harder. She pulled her attention away, desperately seeking out anything that would block the synapses, something that would help return her feelings to the corner of her heart where they normally resided. As if a spotlight hovered overhead, her eyes settled on the figure in the corner of the marble vanity: the bobblehead toothbrush holder from a baseball game that seemed eons ago. Jane had teased her about it, but was surprised when Maura insisted she would keep it. She seemed even more surprised when Maura proudly displayed it in her bathroom.

 

_“Where else would I put it?” Maura asked. “It’s a toothbrush holder.”_

_“Yeah, but, you know,” Jane shrugged, “I thought if anything, you’d put it in my room.”_

_Maura recalled now how neither corrected the term. ‘My room’._

_“How will I be reminded of you if I can’t see it?”_

_This seemed to catch Jane off-guard, because she said, “I… Are you really going to put your toothbrush in it?”_

 

The topic had been deflected, and Maura had let it happen. But now alone with it, her head and her heart so full, she had to face the truth head on.

 

Another lonely ending to another perfect day.

 

The second round of tears began to fall when she heard the security alarm beep, and a soft voice called upstairs, “It’s just me, Maura. I forgot my phone.”

 

“Okay,” she replied in return. Quickly wiping her face and blowing her nose, she ran a shaking hand through her hair and drew her robe closed. Two deep breaths and she was almost herself again. It was a facsimile that would have fooled anyone. Anyone but Jane.

 

The brunette stood in the doorway of the bathroom, as if it was perfectly natural for her to be in such a private sanctum. She opened her mouth to speak, but caught a glimpse of Maura’s reflection in the mirror.

 

“What’s wrong?” She stepped forward, though she didn’t reach out, as if she knew her presence was enough.

 

With a deep breath, Maura turned, a fist clenched tightly in the pocket of her robe; one look into concerned brown eyes unravelled her completely. “That stupid bobblehead,” she sobbed.

 

Jane blinked, and whatever sarcastic comment was on the tip of her tongue died a quick death when she saw Maura come apart. “What is it, sweetheart?”

 

The term of endearment didn’t help stem the tide. “It’s not you.”

 

“It’s not me, as in, I didn’t do anything? Because that might be a first. Or, it’s not me, as in, he’s not me?” She tilted her head in the direction of the figure.

 

“I have all these things that remind me of you,” Maura said. Covering her face, her words were barely audible. “But I don’t have you.” She felt Jane move even closer and her body reached out to the familiar scent of things she would always label as ‘Jane.’

 

“I’m right here.”

 

Maura shook her head vehemently, and the words poured out. “You’re here now, but you’ll go, and I’ll do nothing but think of what it was like to have you here, and how long it will be until you come back, and I’ll pretend everything’s okay, because it is, but on the other hand, it isn’t re-”

 

She tasted the saltiness of her tears, but not from her lips. They were on Jane’s. Jane, who had framed her face with calloused yet soft hands, and had pressed their lips together. Jane, who had gently taken Maura’s top lip between her teeth and waited for permission to do more. It was a control Maura gladly relinquished. Mouths opened and breaths mingled while they hovered in a stasis, the view from the edge at once both frightening and exhilarating with promise. At last, Jane bridged the minute space between them, and it was as if the floodgates were opened. Hands gripped, mouths explored and bodies pressed together as if striving to become one. Maura leaned back and was enjoying the exquisite feeling of Jane’s lips leaving a possessive mark on her breast when she inadvertently knocked over the reason they were there in the first place.

 

Looking up, Jane said, “I hope that’s not a bad omen.”

 

Maura let her head fall back and laughed. The sound brought Jane’s lips to a soft spot under her ear.

 

“I’m not complaining,” Jane said, “but what’s going on?” She lifted her head and raised an eyebrow.

 

“Nothing. I…” she tried to look away, but Jane’s fingertip grazed against her chin and turned her head. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I was thinking about the day, and you, and us. And I realized my life in the last 5 years has been made up of days just like today. Not that I’m complaining,” she quickly added. “Quite the contrary. I’ve never been happier.”

 

“But…”

 

“But… I feel so selfish,” she confessed. “I have all these things. I don’t want for anything. Except you.”

 

“That must make me a pretty big deal, huh?”

 

She cast her eyes downward. “Please don’t joke about this. I don’t think I could bear it.”

 

“I’m not joking,” Jane assured her. “I’m just finally figuring out that I mean as much to you as you do to me.”

 

Maura’s eyes darted up, unsure yet hopeful. “What?”

 

As if reading her thoughts, Jane asked, “You think I just go around kissing every crying woman I meet?”

 

She half-chuckled, half-sniffed. “Do you often meet a lot of crying women?”

 

Jane shrugged. “It’s one of the risks of the job.”

 

Emboldened by the banter, she kissed her lightly and said, “I would have thought it would be one of the perks.”

 

“Only if that woman is you. And you don’t have to cry to get me to kiss you. In fact, I'd prefer it if you didn't."

 

Maura wiped away a stray tear and sniffled. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen this way.”

 

“What way were you thinking?”

 

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Not with me crying in my bathroom, rambling about a bobblehead.”

 

Jane smirked before kissing her again. “I don’t know,” she said against Maura’s lips, “you seem to have gotten your message across just fine.”

 

Maura traced the neckline of Jane’s T-shirt, mesmerized at the hint of skin underneath. “Do you have to go tonight?”

 

"The supervisor, remember?"

 

She frowned. "I could have you back at your condo by 8:30. Please. Stay. Even if just to sleep. You're here now and-" For the second time that night, Jane stopped her speech with a kiss. She pulled back, smiling and breathless. "You're not doing anything that will make me want you to leave."

 

"Good. Perfect, in fact."

 

The word caught her attention. _Perfect._ She had used it to describe her relationship with Jane, and yet, in the span of a few minutes, she realized how wrong she’d been. The real thing, standing in front of her with strong arms and soft lips was so much more. Hope and relief washed over her; whatever the future held, this day would end differently than all the others and the idea thrilled her.

 

"No," she said, pulling Jane closer. “It’s even better.”

 

…..

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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